2. CONFESSION (version 2, repeated part from version 1 is in grey)
My trial took place in the cellar of the town hall and commenced immediately. Despite the nocturnal hour, the room was full of people.
Seated at a heavy wooden table and directing the inquiry was the Witch Hunter General himself ... gaunt-looking, grey-haired, staring at me with an intensity the likes of which I had never seen before.
Flanking him on either side were the town's Lord Mayor and the red-cloaked churchman who had just arrested me in my home. Also present were various local dignitaries, merchants and other members of the town's elite ... as well as several bare-chested hulks, wearing red hoods ... whose presence at the proceedings could only be for the purpose of applying persuasion.
I was brought in and forced ... wearing only a thin white night gown ... to stand in front of and facing my inquisitors. While everyone waited, my arms were bound at the wrists and raised over my head by a rope run through a pulley attached to a ceiling beam. Enough tension was applied to the rope to stretch me to the point where only my toes touched the cold flagstone floor.
The Witch Finder General cleared his throat and leaned forward to address me, his voice barely a whisper.
"You are Barbara Moore?"
I hesitated, unsure of how to address him, "I am she ..... um ..... your Excellency?" Some kind of curtsy-bob seemed appropriate, but strung up as I was, that was hardly possible, so I just dipped my head respectfully.
He opened a ledger, dipped his quill in ink and scratched something onto the page.
"Do you know why you have been brought before me this night?"
"Um ... I believe I am have been accused of witchcraft, I stammer, quickly adding, "but anyone who knows me can surely tell you that the accusation is false."
"Silence!!!!" he screamed, "It has been reported to me from a reliable source that you have been observed consorting with the devil late at night."
"It's a lie. Everyone knows those two old windbags are crazy," I shout, looking reproachfully at my two neighbors, who stand stiffly behind the Witch Finder General, an air of self-righteous satisfaction written all over their fat faces.
"Enough! She denies guilt. We have other means of seeking the truth! Bring in the horse!"
On cue, his hooded henchmen moved in on me, cutting away the sleeves of my night gown, ripping it open at the neck and back, allowing its tattered remains to slip down over the curves of my stretched and straining body to pool around my ankles.
A heavy wooden "horse" was dragged to the center of the room, its legs making a loud scraping noise on the stone floor. The torture device consisted of a narrow crossbeam mounted on four stout legs. Attached to the crossbeam was a very thick wooden dildo with sharply protruding rugged ribbed sides, darkened by old blood stains.
"Mount her!" ordered the Witch Hunter General, pointing his bony index finger at me.
The room was filled with murmurs of excited anticipation as the onlookers pressed forward, jostling one another for a favorable vantage point.
Two of the hooded men began to heave ... arm over arm ... on the rope running up through the pulley over my head, raising me high off the floor in a series of jerky motions. The horse was shoved under me, and as I was lowered, eager hands took hold of my ankles to spread my legs wide.
Someone hurriedly spread grease from a pail all over the dildo, and a pair of hands gripped my hips firmly and began guiding me down. I held my breath and closed my eyes as the bulbous tip pressed between my spreading lips. I clenched my teeth and tried to resist, but to no avail. My screams echoed off the stone ceiling as the dildo was brutally and painfully forced deep inside me.
By the time they had finished, I was helplessly impaled on this monstrous thing and feeling like any further movement would surely tear me apart inside. To increase the pressure and add to my discomfort, they busied themselves attaching heavy weights to my ankles. Warm sticky blood began to collect under my tight little ass cheeks, and to trickle down between the inside of my thighs and the crossbeam to which they were so tightly pressed by the weights on my ankles.
The Witch Finder General rose to his feet, and circled the table to confront me up close. Taking grip of a handful of my hair, he jerked my head back as far as it would go, and leaned over my face.
"Now confess!" he hissed, spittle appearing at the corners of his mouth.
I said nothing ... just looked at him.
He let go of my hair and stepped away, waving his arm at his henchmen. Four of my girlfriends were hustled into the room. Wide-eyed with terror, they were swiftly bound to pillars and stripped to the waist. Men with whips took their places behind each of them. Even before the whips began flying the denunciations began, and continued amid the crack of whips and cries of anguish. Before long, each and every one of them had sworn to have seen me with the Devil.
My head was jerked back a second time.
“Confess … why, don’t you confess?” he yells at me, “Can’t you see we have witnesses? Even your friends condemn you. Don’t make us hurt them more. Confess, my child! For your sake and for their sake, confess now!”
I feel sorry for my dear friends. Poor things! Don’t they realize that by denouncing me they are casting suspicion on themselves? They will undoubtedly be next. But I am innocent. I don’t want to confess!
But now that the relentless whipping of my friends had been halted, the hooded men turned on me, advancing with whips in hand. My worst nightmare was about to begin.
A storm of whiplashes rained down on me … each of them laid down with practiced precision across my breasts, tummy, shoulders, back and buttocks. I squirmed and twisted under the lash. I screamed and shrieked … the dildo tore at my insides with every move … rivers of blood smeared my quivering ass cheeks, and ran down my legs as the relentless flogging continued.
At last they stopped. I hung over my horse, panting, hurting everywhere, blubbering, begging for mercy. From the pillars to which they were bound, my half-naked friends craned their necks to see what I would do next. The room became silent with pregnant expectation and seemed to close in on me.
Once again, the Witch Hunter General jerked my head back, his face white with rage.
“Confess now! Save yourself from more torture. The Devil cannot help you now Barbara. For the sake of your friends and family, confess!!”
I shook my head no, tears streaming down my face.
My head was released. The Witch Hunter General stepped back. A single masked tormentor advanced on me, holding a long pliers in his hands. Gripped in the pliers was a long needle, its tip glowing red-hot. He halted in front of me. With his free hand he grabbed my right nipple at its base, and slowly began applying the hot needle to its crinkled tip.
As the needle neared, I could feel its searing heat. This was too much. I caved.
"Stop, please stop!" I shrieked, “I confess! Oh my God! No more! Please stop!"
The Witch Hunter General harrumphed in triumph and returning to his ledger, entered several lines of notes, hastily scribbled out my warrant of death, rose and left the room, the others filing out behind him.
The empty room became strangely silent. A moment later the stillness was broken by a most unholy scream as the red hot needle was driven home.
TO BE CONTINUED
